


Everyone Has A Plan

by crystalkei



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 23:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4644756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalkei/pseuds/crystalkei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you want to break something? That makes you feel better doesn't it?” She tilted her head, the ghost of smile coming over her. </p><p>“No.” It never made him feel better. </p><p>“Now we're getting somewhere, an honest answer, yes!” Her face lit up, he glared in return.</p><p>“Don't patronize me.” </p><p>“It's positive reinforcement,” she said with a shrug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Has A Plan

The men spoke in hushed tones so low that Illya had to continually adjust the equipment to block out the ambient noise of the bar just on the other side of the opposite wall. When he finally could make out the conversation, two of them were having a pissing contest about the third man’s sister. Illya curled his lip in annoyance. How long would he have to sit here waiting for them to start talking about the operation?

He rolled his neck back and forth, trying to make himself more comfortable when he heard the shriek of a woman. Illya sat up straighter and strained to hear the voices through his headphones.

“You can’t be in here!” one man shouted.

“Oh, let her stay, she’s cute,” another said.

“Boys,” the woman spoke and Illya threw his head back in annoyance. What was Gaby doing here? “I brought vodka and I am feeling very friendly, you want to be my new friends?”

“New friends have to let us check them for weapons, just the rules, I’m sure you understand.”

“Comrade, every girl has got to protect herself,” Gaby said with a huff, Illya imagined they were searching her and finding all manner of things that would cause the men to be not so friendly.

“Just three knives?” the man asked skeptically but Illya found himself a little more relaxed. They hadn’t found the fourth she always kept in her hair disguised as a pick. “Ah, there is the other. I know you Germans cannot stand for the numbers to be uneven.”

Illya heard Gaby’s uncomfortable laugh and put his head against the wall, banging lightly a few times. The men all laughed. Now he was not going to get any information out of these lackies and he was going to risk his cover to extract Gaby. He wasn’t sure who he was more upset with, Gaby, Waverly for sending her in there when this was a KGB operation, or the men who’d said some very disgusting things about the first man’s sister and he could only imagine what they’d do to Gaby. She could take two of them, but not three.   
  
“Keep the vodka, a gift from me to you, I’ve got to be somewhere so…”

“Fraulein, we’re very interested in being your friend before we let you go.”  
  
Illya swallowed, his hand started to shake.

“Please don’t do that, you’re hurting me.” Her voice was strained and his blood pumped faster.

“That’s the plan.”

His right hand clenched as he ripped the headphones off with his left hand. Illya lifted the window, climbed out, and swung over to the next window, his feet crashing through the glass to make a stunning entrance.

The ringing in his ears meant he ignored all the pleas from the men, they were so low level they really could only take on a small woman. Illya wasn’t actually processing these things though as he knocked one out after another. But as the rage started to pass he noticed Gaby not looking flustered, not even surprised. She was looking for something, not thanking him.

The door opened and Solo walked in, that stupid smug smile that always sat on his face, irritating Illya more.

“Thanks, Peril, played your part well!”   
  
Whatever Gaby had been looking for she’d now located and tossed to Solo.

“What are you two even doing here? This is a KGB operation, not an U.N.C.L.E. one.”

“You're a predictable spy,” Gaby said as she pat his cheek.

“I am not.” He must have cut himself coming through the window because he noticed her fingers had a bit of blood on them. She stepped back and reached for a rag from the small sink across the room and gently pressed it to his cheek. He kept his face stoic because this was all very wrong.

“He's not bad. I've seen worse.” Solo put the small package Gaby had tossed him into his coat pocket and gestured to the door.  

“See, even Solo says you're wrong.” Happy for once the man was on his side.  

“Your temper is going to ruin us,” Gaby said pointing to his clenched fist. “See, look, you're doing it right now!”

“No, I'm not!” He ignored the thought that he sounded like a petulant child and unclenched his fist, putting it over her own hand that was still keeping the cloth on his cheek, his hand stopped shaking almost immediately. Note to self, he thought.

“Do you want to break something? That makes you feel better doesn't it?” She tilted her head, the ghost of smile coming over her.

“No.” It never made him feel better.

“Now we're getting somewhere, an honest answer, yes!” Her face lit up, he glared in return.

“Don't patronize me.”

“It's positive reinforcement,” she said with a shrug.

“Let's not have this discussion in front of him, please.”

“I don't mind,” Solo piped up and Illya shook his head.

“I do.”

“Okay,” Gaby said, brushing glass off the bottom of his jacket then walking towards the door. Illya followed her. “So, we can manage the anger maybe.”

“You'll never eliminate the other weakness,” Solo threw over his shoulder.  

“That's not nice, I'm sure we can fix that too.”  

“Everyone shut up please,” he snapped. Time to check for the quickest way down the stairs and away from these two.  

“I know it's me but,” she started but Illya was pushing passed her and Solo and barreling down the steps and out of the building. Far, far away. “Illya!” Gaby shouted after him but he didn’t stop.

 

\--

 

Gaby had him so riled up he didn’t even ask what the plan had been. Why weren’t they letting him in on it? Why did he have to knock out the thugs instead of Solo or Gaby just doing it? As he sat in his sparse apartment staring at his chessboard, these questions sat with him.

“Solo teach you to pick that lock?” he said as Gaby slipped into the bedroom. He didn’t see her coming so much as he felt her. “It’s a tricky one.”   
  
“I used the window, which I managed to jimmy open without breaking any glass like you did earlier, it’s cold out so I didn’t think you’d like that.” She sidled over to the edge of the bed and slipped off her shoes. Illya looked at her now, instead of at the chessboard.   
  
“Thought you didn’t want to ever see this side of the Iron Curtain again?”

She threw her arms out and then fell backward, her back hitting the bed caused a raucous chorus of springs.   
  
“You sleep on this thing?”

“I’m hardly ever here.” She rolled on her side now, chin in her hand.

“I thought maybe it was some Soviet torture device that KGB agents had to snuggle into at night to prove their loyalty or something.”

“Why are you here, Gaby?” he sounded irritated but he wasn’t in the least. This whole show was intriguing and he tried not to stray to thoughts of joining her on the uncomfortable bed.

“Do you have a radio?”

“No.”

“Vodka?”

“No.”

Gaby huffed. “You really don’t know how to have fun.”

“I have chess.”

“No, thank you,” she said with a wink. “We needed a diversion.”

Illya tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “You’re a diversion all on your own.”

“It worked better if you didn’t know about it.”   
  
“I’m very good at knocking people out when I’m told the plan.”

“You’re just very good at knocking people out. No preparation needed, don’t be modest.”

“Will I be invited to the post op brief tomorrow or…?”

“Breakfast at the Grand Lantern Hotel tomorrow at nine am. Waverly called your superiors.”   
  
“Off you go then,” Illya said, standing up and walking towards the bedroom door, his arm directing her out. She didn’t move though. “It’s late.”

“It’s not that late. And I don’t sleep well,” she sat up, scooting herself up against the plain headboard, the bed creaking as she went.

“You sleep just fine if you put enough liquor in you, but I have none so go find some in your hotel room.” Rome was only the first time they’d played the cover of the architect and his fiancée so he knew very well how she put herself to sleep.

“Going to let me walk out to the mean streets of Moscow all by myself, Illya?” She pouted. He did his best not to roll his eyes.

“You’ll be perfectly fine. Even when I thought you were just a chop shop girl you were not concerned with walking dark alleys.”

She reached over to the bedside table for the glass of water he kept there. He watched her take a swig, probably hoping it was stronger, a little bit of water slid down her chin. The way she wiped at her chin with the back of her hand somehow brought about the realization that she wasn’t leaving. Illya abandoned the door in favor of sitting next to her on the bed. She smiled at him like she’d won. She had and he thought about hanging his head in defeat but he managed to at least keep up the illusion of dignity.

“Why me, why am I the weakness besides your temper?” She was so earnest and concerned and for a beautiful woman she looked almost confused by the thought.

“I’d rather watch you drink.” It was the easiest way. Deflect. Divert her attention. But he couldn’t bring himself to give her his best. A half hearted attempt was all he had because he teetered on wanting to have the conversation, too.

She pursed her lips in understanding and got up on her knees. “Okay, new plan.” And then she was kissing him. Her hands on either side of his face held him tightly like he might try to run away. He considered it for a brief moment. This was a long time coming and it was making his problem worse. But his hands slid up her sides, under her shirt, his tongue met hers, and she moaned. God, she moaned and he didn’t care in the least about rules or missions or governments or gulags in Siberia. Gaby’s lips had him willing to defect to whatever country she demanded. She straddled him then, grinding down causing him groan.

But then it all stopped. Reality came crashing back down. The quiet swoosh of guns with silencers in the hallway and then Solo calmly entering. Not ruffled in the least by whomever he’d fought in the hallway or the position Gaby and Illya were in on the bed.   
  
“Sorry friends, it’s time to go, and very, very quickly.” Only his words relayed the severity of the situation, his tone was placid as ever.

Gaby was off him in a second, grabbing for her shoes as he grabbed for the guns, one in the side table, one under the mattress.   
  
“We could talk more later,” Gaby said as they made their way to the fire escape at the other end of the apartment.   
  
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Solo asked and Illya’s right fist clenched tighter around his pistol.

“Later,” he said.

“I think we’re really getting somewhere,” she said with a smile as she whisked herself down the ladder of the fire escape.

Getting deeper into something, surely, but there was no time to think about that now.

 

 


End file.
